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(22.11.1944 / Nottingham, England/live in Australia)

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A Paupers Parable

Gordon O'Gord and Michael De Ville
Lived next door to an old landfill,
Gordon was nine and a half, they say,
And Michael nine on the following day.

The boys were poor, they played about,
Their parents left them to holler and shout,
They played in the rubbish at Eden's Spill
And gathered their toys from the old landfill.

Gordon's mother was Mary O'Gord,
A lush in every sense of the word,
While Michael's mother, wherever she be,
Has gone to hell in a handbag... See!

One day, while foraging near and far
The boys uncovered an old bell jar,
A great big stopper was still in place,
The surface shone, you could see your face!

'Now this is gear! ' said Gordon: 'Hah!
'We'll keep our treasures in this old jar,
Let's hide it well, so no-one can steal
The things we take from the old landfill.'

They took the jar, and carried it home,
To stand on a shelf where the bright sun shone,
Then filled it slowly with care, each mite
Like a piece of ore from a meteorite.

A lump of chalk, a carbon rod,
They each agreed with a wink, a nod,
Some Peacock ore from a copper mine
And sulphur pills were a special find.

An old watch face with luminous hands,
Some iron ore with rusty strands,
A fertilizer they found undone
That said: 'For replenishing nitrogen.'

It rained one day, poured down the sill
Into the jar that was partly filled,
The water level with rocks and ore
Trickled like streams from a waterfall;

Ran right over the toothpaste squeeze,
Dissolved the hint of an Alpine breeze,
The water took it on over the sill
Along with the essence of chlorophyll.

When Gordon challenged Michael De Ville,
'You dope, you left with the jar unsealed,
I told you to put the stopper back! '
Then Michael sulked at his mate's attack.

The boys fell out, as boys they will
O'Gord was bigger than Michael De Ville,
So Michael schemed and he plotted then
To get the best of his older friend.

He waited until the time was right
Then under cover of stars and night
He took some ammonium cleaner there
And poured it into the old bell jar.

It fizzed and hissed, gave off a cloud
Of greenish gas like a misty shroud,
And soon it filled up the old bell jar -
You couldn't see what was what in there.

When Gordon came, he said: 'Oh, great!
Well, that's the end of our friendship, mate! '
So Michael then, he cursed and he swore
To cut the lunch of Gordon O'Gord.

The days went by, and the passing weeks,
The bell jar cooked its ingredients,
The mist, it gradually cleared away,
The sun shone steadily, day by day;

Heated the jar, melted the ore,
Formed bedrock and an atmosphere,
Radiation from luminous hands
Sparked a miracle, carbon strands;

Amino acids were leached, all right
From the lump of ore from the meteorite,
And when young Gordon had turned thirteen
He chanced to look at the jar again.

But there in the beams of broad sunlight
Were things that moved, and things in flight,
A tiny people, as busy as bees,
Were building factories under the trees.

Cars were driving on tiny roads,
And sports, with all of the football codes,
Beaches, all with their golden sand
And cinemas featuring 'Superman! '

The sea was blue with an azure sky
And boats were bobbing there, by and by,
A scene like this was a pauper's dream
To young O'Gord, who was just thirteen.

And there in an open field, alone,
A building stood, it was made of stone,
A lofty spire with a Norman Steeple,
Where others prayed for the good of the people.

Gordon's jaw, it dropped to the floor
He muttered... 'Oh! ' He shouted 'Gawd! '
The bell jar shook at the mighty roar,
And the people cringed... Muttered: 'O'Gord! '

Now every now and then De Ville
Comes round to work his evil will,
He drops great rocks from ancient heights,
The people think that they're meteorites.

He scrawls on tablets hasty runes
After he's eaten his morning prunes,
And drops them onto their mountainsides
'The Ten Commandments', then laughs ('til he cries!)

He shakes the jar to cause Tsunami's,
Provokes the people to raise great armies,
Bellows with glee through the stopper hole:
'The DeVille will get you before you grow old! '

Their cry goes up, 'Save us, O'Gord,
From the DeVil's work and his mighty sword! '
But Gordon has gone, he's headed for Fipps
Where he goes to purchase his fish and chips!

31 July 2008

Submitted: Thursday, July 31, 2008
Edited: Monday, November 03, 2008


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Comments about this poem (Alisa by David Lewis Paget )

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  • Shania K. Younce (3/30/2014 4:26:00 PM)

    I like the theme of the poem. This poem is very creative. Bien!

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  • Noreen Carden (9/17/2013 11:32:00 AM)

    Hello David brilliant poem made me think is some being rattling our jar causing havoc in our world while we pray
    for things to be alright Who knows. Well done

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